A Night Out
by Lizardqueen
Summary: Movieverse -- A night out on the town...


A NIGHT OUT  
  
Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine and all but Claire the bartender belongs to Marvel. Claire belongs to a bar in Vermont. I am not making any profit from this story, except that of experience (I hope).  
  
Author's Note: If this story seems familiar, rest assured, it's all mine.  
  
Summary: The team celebrates Jean's birthday.  
  
  
  
It wasn't often that they all got to go out at the same time. It was even more rare that they all went out together. But every year on Jean's birthday she insisted and this year was no different.  
  
"What I don't understand is why it has to be karaoke," Scott said with a shake of his head.  
  
"What's the matter with karaoke?" Jean shot back at him. She was careful to keep her eyes on the road and the car's speed at 70 miles an hour.  
  
"You mean besides listening to every drunk person who couldn't sing in the first place, try anyway? Jeez, I'll have to drink just to keep from screaming."  
  
"What's his problem?" Logan growled in a low voice from the back seat where he was pinned between Ororo and Professor Xavior.  
  
"He can't sing," Ororo whispered back.  
  
"I heard that!" snapped Scott over his shoulder. "I can sing, I just chose not to."  
  
"You mean you sing that way on purpose?" she asked in an innocent tone.  
  
"Can't carry a tune in a bucket," Xavior confirmed, "Last year, Jean had to drink just to keep from screaming."  
  
"That's not true!"  
  
"Yes it is dear," Jean told him with a smile.  
  
"Hey, you told me I had a great voice."  
  
"Scott, I was drinking, heavily. Everyone had a great voice."  
  
"I don't believe this," Scott moaned.  
  
"Amazing," Logan chuckled, "One Eye can't sing. Hey darlin', why don't you drop this looser and hook up with someone who can use their pipes for more than just talking."  
  
"Right! Like you, pal? I doubt it." Scott half turned in the seat to look at Logan. With an almost silent hiss, Logan's claws extended. On instinct, Scott raised his hand to the side of his face before he realized he wasn't wearing his visor.  
  
"Want to say that again, Bub?"  
  
"That is quite enough gentlemen," Xavior cut in, holding his hands up for peace. "Well Ororo, what do you plan to sing tonight?" Both Scott and Logan accepted the change of subject, but not without a final sneer at each other.  
  
"I hardly think you can top last time." Jean glanced in the rearview mirror. Her smile threatened to become an ear to ear grin. A snicker came from the seat next to her. Xavior was all out laughing.  
  
"Really, I don't think we need to bring that up again." Ororo shifted her weight and tried to look as if she were the only one in the car.  
  
Logan looked at her and asked, "What was it?"  
  
"I don't want to talk about it Logan"  
  
"I can't have been all that bad..."  
Ororo refused to look at him so he turned to look at Xavior, who brought his face under control. It lasted only as long as it took him to answer.   
  
"She sang 'Its Raining Men.'" His control broke and he began laughing again. Scott and Jean joined in.  
  
"Yes, well, at least it wasn't 'I Wear My Sunglasses at Night,' Scott!" Her statement sent the occupants of the car into fresh gales of laughter. Except from Scott, who muttered, "Oh man, why am I the one you guys always pick on?"  
  
  
  
The interior of the bar was murky with smoke. Nearly all of the people at the round tables and on the high stools had a cigarette. Logan smiled and reached for his own cigar. He lit it and took a long, satisfying puff.  
  
A small woman stood behind the bar mixing drinks. She looked up and saw the small party. "Oh Jean, it's so nice to see you." She grinned at Jean. Then looking the group over, her eyes landed on Scott. "Oh no, you brought Scott. It's your birthday? Why didn't you call and warn me?"  
  
"Claire, if I had called, you just would have pretended to be happy we were coming. At least we brought a designated driver this time."  
  
"That's not the problem. He is the problem," Claire pointed at Scott. "You know that the minute he starts in I get no peace. People start throwing pretzels at him and he starts whining."  
  
"I don't whine!" Claire and the rest of the team just looked at him. "Well, I don't."  
  
"Things will be better this time. Logan will keep us in line."  
  
"And this new face would be Logan's I gather." Claire looked at him appraisingly. "Well, he's a hairy one." Logan glared at her. "Nope, I don't believe it. It'll be the blind leading the blind. Anyway, designated driver drinks free, so what can I get you all?"  
  
"Beer," all but Logan said in unison.  
  
"Shirley Temple," Logan said. The group looked at him.  
  
"Ha, and you thought I was a wimp," Scott mocked.  
  
"Watch it, bub, or you'll be walking home," Logan growled.  
  
They sat at a small round table in the center of the room. A young, slightly drunk man was on stage. With the mike in one hand and a drink in the other, he was just finishing a country song about having a thinking problem. Ororo thought to herself that maybe he really did have a thinking problem. He should have thought before getting on the stage. Jean and Xavior snickered at her thought.  
  
"Hey! You're not supposed to be in my head guys. Not enough room for all three of us!"  
  
"Sorry, Ororo."  
  
"Won't happen again, my dear."  
  
"Better not. Don't forget what happened the last time." Xavior looked down into his beer, a little shame faced.  
  
"What happened? Remember the new guy...?" Logan looked at them feeling a little left out.  
  
"Well," Jean started, "Last year, Xavior heard a though that was, umm, not something anyone would imagine could come from Ororo. Of course she was a bit embarrassed. So when the Professor started to sing 'Greased Lighting', she sent a couple of extra volts his way. Not enough to hurt him, but it should have been enough to keep us out of her mind. Sorry Ororo, your thoughts are just really funny..."  
  
"Who are you guys? No wonder you only do this once a year."  



End file.
